


the less i needed, the better i felt

by koedeza



Series: post episodes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s11e08 Just My Imagination, Gen, Season 11 Coda, a whole ass prompt, either way its not nice, or dean gets a wake up call, sam needs multiple hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koedeza/pseuds/koedeza
Summary: Dean realizes just how lonely Sam must have been to have a Zanna.





	the less i needed, the better i felt

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from @ilovejared
> 
> thanks :))

_“See me ride out of the sunset!_ ”

He lets go of the wheel and thumps on the wheel with his palms.

“ _On your color TV screen”_

His head shakes left and right, banging to the sound of the music.

_“Out for all that I can get”_

He’s singing at the top of his lungs, shouting out AC/DC like he’s Bon Scott himself.

“ _If you know what I_ \- Come on, Sam, I _know_ you know this one-” Dean turns to the side and reaches out a hand to shove his brother, but then he catches sight of Sam.

His younger brother’s sleeping, head resting against the foggy glass window, eyes moving underneath his eyelids, clearly stuck in a dream. There’s a small frown on Sam’s face, but he doesn’t look like he’s caught in a nightmare so Dean doesn’t tense up _too_ much.

But- 

Dean knows Sam isn’t happy. And he hates it.

He pops out the AC/DC cassette and switches it out for a Kansas one, turning down the volume and letting the soft melody of Dust in the Wind fill the Impala.

The Darkness has been looming over them both, over every monster and hunter in America. They feel the threat and they know the danger and it makes Dean sick to think that it’ll never end. Sam looks more peaceful in his sleep than he has in months and he doesn’t even look _ok_.

It’s not just the Darkness that shakes Dean up, but their last hunt? What the _fuck_ was that?

Imaginary friends, mermaids, and air-guitar solos that would kill any rock fan, it all sounds like tantalizing shit for any little kid. But Sam? Sam who knew about monsters when he was 6, Sam who learned to kick the shit out of something at 7, Sam who always waited patiently in the motel when he was 8, Sam who-

Sam who was alone for a better part of his childhood.

The realization hits him hard. Dean was off hunting with John and yeah, that sucked major ass, but at least he was _with_ someone. Sam had books and lonely hours in motels and crappy cartoons and canned soup and silence and, _Sully_. Sully who was more of a friend to his brother than Dean ever was, at least in those beginning years.  

The night is dark except for the occasional passing car, but even that’s rare. Dean’s left leg is jumpy and he wonders how he didn’t notice it before. Sam’s waking hours were spent in solitude, minus the lone call to Dean or John which usually only lasted five minutes and was hastily cut off. Just Sam and loneliness so real that something he made in his mind had to come and keep him company, tell him how one day he’d matter to Dean and John.

Just Sam and his Zanna.  

Dean swears under his breath and catches the neon sign of a gas station rising up in the air. He veers the car over to the next lane and lets the Impala crawl up next to a pump, trying to be as gentle as possible so he won’t wake Sam up.  

He shuts off the engine and gets out, leaving the door open and catching a quick glance at Sam. The frown on his face is slightly smoothed out and Dean’s heart lifts a little.A chuckle rushes past his lips and he turns around, paying for gas and sticking the pump in the Impala. His mind wanders a little bit, thumb bumping on his thigh to the beat of some random song. Anything’ll to distract him from the Zanna and why Sam had one, but music and movement are just muscle memory anyway. Apprehensive green eyes rake the gas station, always on the lookout for some imminent danger. 

It’s just quiet now.

Even when a big Jeep Cherokee comes rattling into the gas station and pulls up to the pump right next to theirs, it’s silent in comparison to the usual bang of noise in Dean’s world. It’s an 80s car, clunky and with a weird paint job, but otherwise, it seems that the owner’s been taking good care of it. Assessing the old car is a welcome distraction from other thoughts mulling around in Dean’s head. That is, until the little boy.

The engine of the Cherokee audibly shuts off as a woman climbs out, frazzled and on the phone, voice low and sharp like the thwack of a knife. 

“I told you, I can’t take him, Glenn.” The woman stops, turns around and calls something out into the car, spinning on her heel and going right back to the convenience store. 

“I have to work double shifts most of the week, he’s _seven,_ I am _not_ leaving him alone-” The conversation is cut off as the woman enters the store. Dean doesn’t realize he’s staring so intensely after her until a car door opening startles him. Someone with tiny hands is shoving the Cherokee door open.

The sun won’t start crawling over the horizon for another while, but even in the dark Dean can see him. A small face, two feet dangling in the air above the ground, a stuffed animal waving around in the air like it’s flying. Dean even hears imitations of airplane noises. It’s a funny little scene, right until the stuffed animal falls, bouncing off the door and falling right into a puddle by the pump. Something seizes Dean by the heart and he’s moving so quickly he almost trips over the gas hose. 

He reaches the stuffed animal in two long strides and picks it up, nose almost bumping into the little kid's knees when he comes back up.

“Hey!” Dean says, a little breathless for some reason. “You, uh- You dropped this.” Dean hastily wipes the stuffed animal on his jeans, desperately trying to rid it of nasty puddle water. The little boy looks a little blank-faced but then Dean catches hints of a smile.

“Thanks, Mister.” 

Dean smiles curtly and turns, ready to head back to the Impala and to Sam but then the little voice calls back and he forces himself to look back. 

“I’m glad you cleaned him off. My mom doesn’t have a lot of time to do laundry and I’m too short to reach.” The boy’s eloquent for his age and Dean’s eyebrows go up with surprise. 

He figures he can stick around for another two minutes, just until the pump clicks off (He heard it click off when the woman walked into the store).

“Yeah? How come?”

“Well, my dad Glenn won’t take me because he says I’m kind of annoying and he’s some big corporate drone. Least that’s what my mom says,” The stuffed animal goes flying around again, zooming through the air. “She works at the hospital all day and I stay at home.” He finishes matter-of-factly, and the animal goes still in his hands. 

Dean’s face falls.

“You’re all alone, all the time?” He asks, in the fakest cheery voice he can muster.

“No. I got my friend Wally. He’s almost as big as you, maybe a little shorter. We made a _really_ cool airplane the other day. Doesn’t actually fly but Wally says we’ll get there.” The little boy keeps talking about this _Wally_ and Dean has a weird feeling Wally isn’t a person. He’s real alright, he’s just not human.  

Dean stumbles back suddenly, mind reeling with things he knows to be true.

“You ok, Mister?”

Dean can’t really breathe in right and he coughs as if he’s choking on thin air.

“I’m fine. Look, I gotta go. Tell your mom to wash him?” Dean points at the stuffed animal and hurries back to the Impala, leaving the kid alone again. He takes the pump out of the car and clambers in, hands shaking and palms sweaty. The door slams shut and he closes his hands on the wheel, getting ready to drive.  


He stops, gently shakes Sam awake.

“Sammy?” 

Sam’s eyes open slowly like his eyelashes are stuck together, and he blinks lethargically, still half-asleep. 

“Dea-? What’s wrong?” Sam mumbles, not at all alert.

Dean wrings his hands together and scratches his neck, nervous ticks making him shift in his seat. 

“Um nothing Sammy, just- When did you meet Sully? How old were you?” He’s nervous for the answer, doesn’t want to know, because he knows what he’ll hear will break his heart. 

His younger brother leans back to where he was, readjusting the ball of a hoodie he’s sleeping on.  

“When I was like, 6? I dunno.” Sam yawns and closes his eyes, curling into himself again. 

Dean is still for what feels like an hour, heart pounding manically in his chest. How could he let that happen? How did he never notice? Where the _fuck_ was he when Sam needed him? Four whole years of that shit?

Light begins to make its slow trek across the sky and at the same time a numb hand reaches out and turns off the stereo. 

 

The silence has never made him feel so alone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> holla at me on tumblr @koedeza


End file.
